


A Dangerous Game

by dreamcatcher (darcangell23)



Category: Glee
Genre: 1920s, AU, M/M, One-Shot, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcangell23/pseuds/dreamcatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1924 and Blaine Anderson, son of the most notorious mafia boss in the east, has gone to his favorite speakeasy where he sees Kurt for the first time. It's got to be love at first sight but falling for a mafia baby so a dangerous game to play. But is Kurt exactly who Blaine thinks he is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> So this little one-shot (that's not so little) was inspired a couple of days ago so I just had to write it. With it out of the way, I'm sure to stay on track with One Of The Same. All my other chapter fics are on hiatus until I finish that one at least. It's currently 20 chapters with no end in sight. So take a look. The rating is for reference to violence and a little bit of actual violence. It's not heavy, I promise. Also, there are characters mentioned in this story not listed in my character list because they don't actually make an appearance. They're just referenced or talked about.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

I remember the day I met him. The year was 1924. The room was clouded with smoke from the many patrons puffing on their cigars. The air had a tinge mixture of nicotine and whiskey on every breath. The speakeasy was one of the most popular in town. Alcohol was illegal. Men came there to drink and watch the women. The women in their fabulous flapper dresses and elaborate headdresses. It was the scene of the age.

I wasn't the life of the party, not really. I was a likable enough guy but most people steered clear. Why? Because I happen to be Blaine Anderson. Yes, you heard me right. _The_ Blaine Anderson. The youngest son of the most notorious mafia boss this side of the Mississippi River. So no, I wasn't the life of the party.

"You sure do like your drinks." I looked up at the bartender. Sam was actually a friend of mine, one of the few I had. He was standing there, his big mouth twisted in sort of a half grin as he looked back at me, one hand busy wiping out a glass with a rag he often threw over his shoulder.

Sam's blonde hair was a bit longer than most and as such, he kept it firmly greased back. Although grease was seldom used by men not of the wise guy type. I grew up in the mafia. I may not be a wise guy like most of them, but I still greased my hair. Otherwise its mass array of curls flew wildly around my head. I hated them.

I downed the last of the whiskey in the glass and set it back on the bar just a little bit too hard.

"What do you got for me today Sam?" I asked him. He raised an eyebrow. Instead of answering with words, he nodded his head toward the stage, knowing exactly what I was getting at.

The stage. Speakeasies were not only famous for selling illegal alcohol but they had vast performances of different variety. I'd seen quite an abundance of performers. My favorites were the singers. Two in particular frequently appeared at this speakeasy. Miss. Rachel Berry and Miss. Mercedes Jones. The latter was not as well accepted as the former but it was only because her skin was of the darker color and few people in this world approved. The darker colored people had never been so highly respected as us with the white skin.

Miss. Rachel Berry on the other hand was a delicate olive skinned beauty. She was tiny in stature but made up for it in voice. And she had garnered critical acclaim and praise among the speakeasies around the city. There was even a rumor that she had been approached to do radio. I didn't know if it was true. But the men loved her. Particularly Sam's buddy Finn Hudson. He would sit and stare at her all night when she performed.

As it were, neither Miss. Berry nor Miss. Jones was the night's scheduled entertainment. Sam nudged my arm with my whiskey glass and I turned my head to see he had refilled it. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're gonna need it." I had no idea what in the world he was talking about. But applause brought me from my confusion and I turned my attention back to the stage.

It took all my will power to keep my jaw firmly shut because that was when I saw him. A tale slender man, skin like smooth milk, facial features chiseled to perfection, chestnut hair piled high in a perfect coif with just the right amount of grease atop his head. I couldn't make out his eye color from my distance but I could tell his lashes were long. A single solitary blink and they fanned easily across his pale cheek.

He was dressed in a simple but elegant black tuxedo. Sam was right. I needed the drink. I had downed it in the next second.

"A beaut ain't he?" Sam asked with a knowing chuckle.

"Who is he?" I asked, not tearing my eyes away from the man as the piano began to pick up chord and he prepared to open his mouth.

"His name is Kurt Hummel," Sam told me. "Some call him the canary and others call him the song bird. But everyone calls him exquisite," he explained.

"Even more so than Rachel Berry?" I asked. Sam chuckled again.

"See for yourself," he said. I hadn't a moment to reply fore that was when the beautiful angel on that stage opened his mouth and the sound that came out of it was something I will never forget. Even if I were to never hear it for the rest of my days, I will still never forget it.

His voice was so angelic, so clear and melodious, so much more powerful than any I had ever heard. He could expertly and flawlessly sing through notes higher than any man I had listened to sing before. I knew a thing or two about singing myself. In fact, I wasn't half bad at it. But no one I knew, myself included, had anything on this Kurt Hummel.

Needless to say, I was mesmerized, much in the same way Finn Hudson was over Rachel Berry. But I didn't drool like he did. I'm the son of a mafia boss. I have more class than to drool.

Right. Son of a mafia boss. I forced myself to turn in my seat and tapped my glass on the bar, my silent word for another. Sam gave me a slight concerned look but refilled the glass before folding his arms and leaning on the bar across from me.

"What's on your mind B?" he asked. Behind me, Kurt Hummel's voice still rang out beautifully clear as a bell.

A long sigh broke my mouth and I turned my eyes on the fedora I had resting on the bar. "He wouldn't be interested in me. Even if he does play for my team," I said.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked in surprise. "You're a knock out!" I gave him a look, raising one eyebrow, downing the rest of my fresh glass of whiskey, and placing my hat back on my head.

"I'm a mafia baby Sam," I said. "Few people want to make friends with me, let alone get romantically involved." He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, seemingly searching for something to say. I took the chance and stood from my seat, tipping my hat to him. "I'll see you tomorrow Sam. Good evening," I said, turning to take my leave.

As I walked through the establishment to the door, passing by the gambling drunks in the casino corner, I could feel eyes on me. I paused in my step and turned. He was staring directly at me. Kurt Hummel. His head had not moved from facing the audience but his eyes were shifted toward me. I was frozen for a second.

A smack on my ass snapped me out of it and I whirled around to find a smirking Latina who appeared to be indulging in a glass of brandy and cozying up to the men playing blackjack.

"Was that really appropriate Miss. Lopez?" I asked her. She shrugged and swept a hand down her tight red dress. "You know I have no taste for women," I went on.

She shrugged again. "And you know I have no real taste for men. I just like messing with them," she said, stirring her drink.

Santana Lopez was something fierce. She was regarded as something of a man eater. She used to work for a brothel down on Fifth. That was until she met the love of her life. A tall leggy blonde named Brittany. The girl was the epitome of what the future folk would call airhead but she was a sweetheart nonetheless. Santana left the brothel to be with her. But that didn't mean she dropped her man eating was cold turkey. She just didn't take it _there_ anymore. She was more of a mind player than anything else.

"Leaving so soon Anderson?" she questioned then and I snapped out of my short reverie. Even though I was no longer facing him, I could still feel Kurt's eyes on me. "My psychic Mexican third eye says the porcelain doll up there has an eye on you," she went on with a wink.

I forced myself not to sigh. "I'm affiliated with the mafia Miss. Lopez. He wouldn't want to get involved with me."

"Suit yourself Anderson," she said with a shrug and sipped her brandy, turning back to the blackjack game she was watching, picking up a cigarette from an ashtray I only just noticed.

I took this to be her sign that the conversation was over and continued on my way. I forced my eyes to stay ahead of me, even though I could feel Kurt's following my every step as I made my way for the door. Everything about him was so incredibly captivating and the urge to just give in to this beautiful creature was stronger than any I'd ever felt. I wondered briefly if this invigoration was what the men under my father's lead felt when they killed someone in cold blood.

A shudder went up my spine and it had nothing to do with the chill in the night air as I stepped out. Though I noted I should have worn my overcoat. I quickly hailed an automobile and had it take me back to my apartment.

* * *

It was half past midnight when the knock came. Rather late for callers. I knew it couldn't be Sam. He was working graveyard shift for that night. Probably the best thing for him because when he came in late, his roommate had a habit of kicking him out for making too much noise. He often crashed at my apartment.

I was awake, nursing a glass of whiskey and indulging in one of the many novels lining my bookshelves. My suit jacket lay draped over the back of a chair, my fedora on the seat of the same chair. I'd loosened my tie and uncuffed my sleeves, rolling them both back to my elbows. The top two buttons of my dress shirt were undone and my shoes were left by the door.

Not having the faintest clue who could be calling at this hour if it wasn't Sam, I removed my reading glasses and set them aside as another knock came to the door.

My apartment was high rise. Sometimes it pays to have a father in the mafia. He got me this place. What would be a penthouse in modern day New York I'm sure.

Anyway, I moved to the door and worked on the bolt lock, one hand pulling open the drawer in a small table I had positioned against the wall by my front door. My fingers wrapped around the revolver inside. You never could be too careful. Even if I hated handling the weapon, as a son of the mafia, I was taught never to answer an unexpected caller without being armed.

Hand on the knob I waited a beat. The knocking came again. "Who is it?" I called out, voice firm. My hand pulled the gun from the table drawer and dropped down to my side easily. I hated how practiced I was at doing this. Apparently being the son of the most notorious mafia boss put a huge target on my back. I'm surprised I haven't actually had to pull the trigger yet.

"Kurt Hummel," came the reply from the other side of the door. I froze, my eyes wide and round in surprise.

"Kurt Hummel?" I repeated, moving to open the door at once. Sure enough, the beautiful angel from the speakeasy was standing on my doorstep, a small delicate closed mouth smile on his pale face. He was dressed more casually now than the tuxedo he had been wearing earlier but he looking equally as stunning. And suddenly, even my suspenders felt tight.

"I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion," he said. "Especially at this late hour but I just had to come."

"No need to be sorry," I replied. "Won't you come in?" I stood back and gestured with my now free hand for him to enter the apartment. With my other hand, I quickly slid the revolver back into the drawer.

"Thank you," he said politely, stepping over the threshold and I closed the door behind him. "Quite a charming place you have here," he complimented.

I offered him a smile of my own. "Thank you," I mimicked and that brought another smile to his face. "Forgive me, but how did you know where I lived?" I asked.

A light pink flush appeared on his cheeks, only serving to enhance his beauty even more so. "Sam told me," he said. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"Of course he did," I said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "Can I get you anything to drink?" I asked him, already beginning to move toward the kitchen.

"Oh, no thank you. I won't keep you up too much longer. It is quite late," he replied, waving a hand.

"I'm used to it. You're not from around here, are you?" I asked him than. He flushed lightly a second time.

"No. I'm from further west. I came here to seek my dreams," he admitted with a slight shake of his head.

"Well, if you've got big dreams like that," I told him, grabbing my whiskey from where I had set it on the table with my book. "Than New York or Chicago are your best bet in this day and age." I pointed with the fingers holding my whiskey glass before sipping from the liquid.

"Isn't alcohol illegal?" he asked, staring at my glass. I smirked and shoved my free hand in my pocket. "I mean, isn't that the point of going to a speakeasy?"

"Do you know who I am Mr. Hummel?" I asked him slowly. If he didn't, maybe I could ease into this without him ever finding out but that wasn't likely. I had the tendency to get a flurry of unwanted visitors and my father or his men randomly dropped by. Dad was still not particularly pleased that I, like my older brother Cooper, was not interested in a life in the mafia. Nevertheless, I was still quite tightly bound to it. It was an endless escape.

A light flush colored his cheeks once more. I was beginning to realize it was quite easy to make his pale cheeks color like that. Maybe I could have fun with this.

"Everyone on the eastern side of the country knows who you are Blaine Anderson," he said, a sly smile crossing his face.

I considered myself lucky that I had already finished the whiskey or else I might have choked on the liquid.

"And that doesn't bother you?" I asked.

He moved around to the back of the couch and leaned on it delicately, chin resting on his hand and that sly smile still on his face.

"Are you active in the mafia Blaine?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I shook my head. "No," I told him.

"Than I see no reason for it to bother me," he said then. "Although, it would not bother me in the least if you were." He winked and I had to suppress the small shudder that went up my spine.

"I have to warn you though," I said. "Just because I'm not active in the mafia, doesn't mean I'm not a target. Knowing me, getting close to me, could come with a price."

"Well, that's just a chance I'll have to take now isn't it?" He winked again and stood up once more, moving back around the couch to stand merely a foot away from me if not closer. "You intrigue me Blaine Anderson."

"Do I?" I said, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Oh yes, so much so." He leaned in close for a moment before he pulled away and started heading for the door. "I really do hate to be short but I must find an establishment in which to spend the night," he said.

I felt my eyes widen in surprise. "You have no place to stay?" I asked incredulously.

"When I arrived in the city, I had to go straight to the speakeasy. I'm afraid I hadn't time to get myself room and board beforehand," he explained.

I looked at him for a moment, wheels turning in my head. It was now nearly one in the morning. I couldn't let him go back out in that chill for who knew how long. He would catch his death. What with winter slowly creeping around the corner.

"You can stay here for the night," I said. He appeared startled but there was a feeling in the air that told me maybe he was hoping I might say that. "I mean, it is rather late and chilly outside. I can't send you back out in that. I would feel awful."

"You are very kind Blaine Anderson," he said with a nod of his head.

"Please, it's Blaine, just Blaine," I told him.

"I see. Well than, if I shall be staying the night, you Blaine, may call me Kurt." He winked again and I swallowed thickly. Kurt Hummel, it turned out, was a master at flirting without even trying. How could he even be real?

* * *

One night turned into two and two nights turned into three and so on until Kurt was just pretty much living with me. I couldn't bring myself to ask him to leave. The truth was, he was amazing company and I found myself growing fonder of him by the day.

I never missed a chance to see him perform at the speakeasy. Always the same one I frequented. I caught Santana smirking at me several times as I watched Kurt in his element, singing flawlessly time and time again.

There was an altercation one night, a night that was usual for Miss. Berry to perform. Everyone heard the shrillness of her voice as she was decidedly unpleasantly informed that her services would no longer be required there at the speakeasy. Kurt was pulling in more revenue than Rachel ever had.

"You want to cancel an act," she shouted, "Cancel Mercedes! She doesn't really have business performing here anyway!" There were shocks of scandal at that remark. Miss. Berry and Miss. Jones had always gotten on quite well. On the other hand, Rachel was known to be something of a diva. When something didn't go her way, she often said things that she didn't mean. Unfortunately, it often took its toll on her friendships. I was glad we were nothing more than acquaintances.

"You know Miss. Jones' options are limited Miss. Berry," the owner stated firmly. "I cannot cancel her. Besides, I don't know why you care. You've been offered to do radio haven't you? That will reach a much wider audience than my speakeasy will."

Rachel seemed to contemplate this for a moment before standing at her full height and looking him directly in the eye. "You know what? You're right. So have your prissy canary who probably can't sing half as well as I can. I have better offers," she said. It was then that she turned on her heel and stormed off. Her last day in that speakeasy, was also the last time we saw Finn. Except for Sam.

But I didn't much care. I wasn't really friends with Finn and Rachel was somewhat highly annoying. All she did was talk about herself all the time. I wasn't really sad to see her go. Is that wrong?

I pushed it aside. I had bigger things on my mind. Like how close Kurt and I were getting. I could tell it was hiking up my nerves. The closer we became, the more of a target I was putting on his back. I didn't want to bait him. I knew my father's enemies would do anything to get to not only my father but me and my brother as well. You think they cared that we weren't active in the mafia? They didn't give a damn. Anything to bring down the Anderson mafia.

It all came to a peak about a month later. I was sitting on the couch, reading as usual when Kurt came back from wherever he'd been using his evening off. I had given him a key as he pretty much had moved in with me.

"Hello Kurt," I said pleasantly, not glancing up from my reading. I was met with silence. That was strange. Kurt had never not greeted me when he came home if we came home separately.

Concerned, I set the book down and looked up. Kurt was standing at the door, white as a ghost. His piercing blue eyes that upon closer inspection I had discovered to be mixed with green and gray were dilated widely. An instant fear crept up my spine. Had something happened to him?

"Kurt?" I asked carefully, looking him over. He seemed just as put together as he had when he had left the apartment so no one had attacked him apparently. He wasn't shaking so nothing had shaken him up. So if he didn't possibly encounter someone who made a threat toward him at the very least, why was he standing there looking positively frightened?

I finally got an answer a moment later and let me just tell you, it was not what I had been expecting.

Kurt launched himself at me and attached his lips to mine in a kiss so searing I could feel the tingles all the way around to the back of my head. He was fierce, gripping my cheeks with both hands and settling himself in my lap, straddling me.

I of course was taken by complete surprise. The hunger in the way he kissed me suggested it was something he had been wanting to do for quite some time. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted to kiss him too. But I was so afraid of getting too close to him so I forced myself to keep my distance. But it was too much. So I did the only thing I could do.

I kissed him back.

My coherent thoughts went out the window as I gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him impossibly closer to me. His hands were still gripping my face but he moaned at the sudden contact of out bodies pressed together. He angled his head and dipped his tongue into my mouth. This wasn't polite kissing. Oh no. This was full on passion dirty kissing and the very thought of it sent a thrill right through my body.

I accepted his tongue into my mouth, sucking on the warm appendage greedily and moaning deep in my throat. Kurt's tongue in my mouth felt absolutely amazing. I couldn't get enough of kissing him. It was like being drunk. My mind was a muddled floating mess of emotions as I drifted about in this pleasant bliss.

But when Kurt moved his hands to unbutton my shirt, I came to my senses and despite my body's protests not to, gently pushed him away.

"I'm sorry Kurt I can't," I said, forcing myself to stand from the couch and cross the room to put distance between us before I gave in. "We can't."

"Wha?" he said, so stunned for words that he couldn't even pronounce it properly. He blinked several times before a look of horror crossed his face. "Oh my! I am so sorry. I—I guess I read the signs wrong." I tried to ignore how upset and disappointed he sounded. "I thought—I thought you wanted me too."

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. "I do want you Kurt. I want you so so badly it hurts," I told him, looking him directly in the eyes so he would know I meant it. "This isn't about that."

"Than what is it about Blaine? Please tell me because I am so confused," he said and I hated that pleading tone in his voice.

I crossed back to the couch and sat down beside him, gently taking his hands in mine and oh how they fit so perfectly. I just wanted to keep him, to pull him into my arms and kiss him senseless. To roll around in my bed with him, wearing less than what was decent. I wanted so badly to take him to bed with me. But I couldn't.

"Do remember the day we met and I warned you getting close to me could put a target on your back?" I asked. Kurt nodded his head. "Well that's what this is about. I know we've only known each other for a month but I care about you Kurt. I care about you so much already it terrifies me. As it is, you're already in danger just by how much you mean to me now. I can't—I can't risk getting close to you that way. I need to keep you safe." I brought his hands to my lips and kissed each one.

Tears were welling in his eyes. Perhaps of gratitude, perhaps of hopelessness, I didn't know. But I didn't like them.

"Oh no Kurt, please don't cry," I said, feeling slightly choked up myself. I brought my thumb up to brush away the tears falling from those oceanic like eyes that now looked like stormy seas because of how miserable he had become.

"Do you love me Blaine?" he asked then, the quietest whisper I had ever heard.

My heart leapt up into my throat at his question. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in merely a month of knowing them? I realized that yes, it was possible because it had happened. It had happened to me. That was why I had to do this. Because I loved him.

"Please, tell me the truth Blaine," he whispered, voice brokenly begging.

Slowly, I nodded my head. "Yes. Yes and that's why I have to do this Kurt. I couldn't bear it if any harm were to come to you."

His reply was to gently grip my face and place a sweet tender kiss to my lips. It felt like somewhat of a good-bye. A tense fear flooded my veins. Oh no. What was he going to do?

"I understand," he said when he broke the kiss. "You have my heart now Blaine. And you always will. Please, don't forget that." He stood from the couch and moved toward the guest room.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He paused and turned to look at me. I could see the sadness painted all over his face.

"I think it's best if I move out," he said. He didn't give me the chance to reply, just disappeared into guest bedroom.

Kurt didn't have very much to pack so he was out in the living room once more in a short period of time. He crossed to the front door without saying anything. I watched him set his key on the table there before he finally turned to look at me.

"I think putting distance between us is the smartest thing right now Blaine. If you're so intent for me to stay safe," he said. "For that matter, please don't come see me perform." And with those last pained words, he turned and was out the door, leaving me alone in the apartment.

Alone, with a newly broken heart.

* * *

The days seemed to blur together. I seemed to become a heavier drinker. Anything to dull the pain in my heart. It hurt. It hurt something awful to tell Kurt we couldn't be together. It hurt worse not knowing if he was okay. We hadn't spoken since that night. Hadn't seen each other either. I had respected his wishes.

It didn't help when Sam came by one night, pounding on the door and as soon as I opened it, he demanded to know where the hell I'd been. Kurt had asked me not to come see him perform. He had progressed to performing at the speakeasy five nights a week. Mercedes was given weekends. Sam was used to seeing me there every night.

"Kurt asked me not to come see him perform anymore," I told Sam, hand gripping the bottle of whiskey as I had moved to foregoing the glass. Sam looked at me with a condescending look before he unexpectedly grabbed me by my suspenders and yanked me to him roughly. He had a glare in his eye I had never seen before.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded next.

I swallowed heavily and looked him directly in the eyes. "I let him go," I said in a whispery voice. Sam's expression softened and his grip slackened. It was like he could see it in my eyes, how much this was hurting me too.

"You love him," he said. It was a statement, not a question. I sighed and slowly nodded my head. "Than why? Why would you do it?"

"Because I was putting him in danger Sam!" I said forcefully. He looked at me in surprise. "I'm the son of perhaps the country's most notorious mafia boss and whether or not I'm active in the mafia, that makes me a target. And if I'm a target, everyone close to me is a target by association! I couldn't do that to him! I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to him."

Sam went unusually quiet. He rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. This had me suddenly exceedingly worried. He only did that when he was worried about something.

"Oh no. Sam what is it?" I asked.

He looked at me with his eyes piercing. "I don't think it mattered," he whispered.

My blood ran cold. "What happened?! What happened damnit?!" I spat out, alarming Sam at the vulgar language. But I didn't care. My hands ran through my ungreased curls over and over again. My shirt tail was half untucked. My suspenders were slightly lopsided. Stubble was sprouted all along my jaw because I hadn't had a shave. And I was pretty sure I had worn the same clothes for three days. There was a whiskey stain down the front of my shirt. I was a right mess. How dare he do this to me now.

Sam swallowed. "It was Smythe," he said. My eyes got really wide with anger. I should have known. Smythe's mob had had it out for my family for a long time. "He was looking for you. He banded with Karofsky and his gang." That caught me by surprise.

"What would Smythe want with an alliance with Karofsky?" I asked. Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. Anyway, tonight, they barged in, both gangs together. It seems Karofsky was after Kurt all along. He was staring at him with a disgustingly leering eye," Sam went on and I felt the anger boil over. Then something else caught my attention.

"Wait, Kurt said that he was from further west. So is Karofsky. Do you think he followed him?" I asked. Again, Sam shrugged.

It's possible. But the way Kurt stopped singing the moment he saw Karofsky and backed quickly into a corner of the stage suggested they were well acquainted with each other." I said nothing, allowing my anger to stew but I knew he needed to finish before I did anything. "Karofsky said he wanted Kurt. Smythe looked him up and down and tutted in disgust, telling Karofsky and I quote, 'The ugly girly thing isn't worth our time'." Sam made air quotes with his fingers and I let out a snarl.

"Kurt is not an ugly girl thing!" I spat. He nodded.

"I know he isn't but that was Smythe's opinion. He and Karofsky got into an argument about it and then…" he trailed off.

I stared at him for several long moments. "And then what Sam?" I pushed when I realized he wasn't going to finish on his own.

"And then Kurt mentioned you. That was when Smythe became very interested in him. It resolved the argument and he ordered his men to seize Kurt. Kurt put up a very good struggle but they knocked him out with a brick," he finally finished.

That did it. Smythe had Kurt. He had him as bait for me. I didn't doubt that because Kurt was no use to him beyond that, he'd probably just let Karofsky have his way with him and I just could not have that. I also knew that Smythe was expecting me so he wouldn't make it hard to find him. I knew exactly where to go. Smythe wanted me to know about this. I wouldn't be surprised if he sent Sam as a messenger.

"He make you come here?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms over my chest.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck again. "I'm sorry Blaine, I'm sorry! But he threatened to hurt Mercedes if I didn't cooperate!" I knew Sam had a soft spot for the singer.

"It's okay Sam. I'm not mad at you. He wants me there so I'm going to go. I'm going to rescue Kurt because this is my fault," I told him. "I got him into this mess and I have to get him out of it." I crossed the room and pulled the revolver from the drawer, checking that it was loaded and that I had extra bullets just in case.

"What about backup?" he asked but I shook my head.

"Smythe we be expecting that. He'll be prepared to take out Wes, David, Nick, Jeff, Thad, and Trent easily. I have to go alone," I told him, not at all sure why I named my backup. I kind of worded things in an unnecessary manner when I got all worried and fired up like this.

"You shouldn't," he said.

"But I have to," I replied firmly. "Stay here. Whatever you do, don't leave this apartment and don't answer the door for anyone either. Do you understand me?" He nodded his head, perhaps at a loss for words. "Good."

With one last nod of my head, I turned and walked out of the apartment. Show time.

* * *

I knew exactly where to find Smythe. It wasn't exactly a secret where his hideout was. He wasn't really subtle about it. That suggested to me that he was just asking for us to barge in and fight to the death or something. Smythe was so confident of his impending wins, he flat out told his enemies where to find them.

But Smythe Sr. was not the man I needed to see in this case. It was his son. His son was the person who had an interest in me. A sexual interest for that matter but he would never tell his father that. Not just because I was another guy but also because I was the son of Smythe's biggest rival.

It was no secret that Smythe despised being ranked second after my father. You know what the difference is? Not all the mafia are bad people. That's one thing most people fail to realize. My dad has always strived to do good. Yes, the Anderson mafia won't hesitate to kill people in cold blood but we've been taught to not do any of it without a purpose.

Long story short, as far as I know, we have never once killed an innocent person. That says something for me. I won't even kill a guilty person. But if it came down to it, I would kill both Smythes tonight.

I didn't care about my appearance as I ran through the city, taking alleyways and keeping under the radar. I was not amused that they had resulted to hurting my Kurt.

When did he become my Kurt? Hadn't I let him go?

I pushed those questions away. I had to do this. I had to do it because I had gotten Kurt into it and now I had to get him out. He was an innocent in all this and neither Smythe nor Karofsky would hesitate to kill him. Except that given Sam's description, I had a sickening feeling Karofsky wanted Kurt the same way Smythe Jr. wanted me.

I wondered then if Smythe Sr. had any idea what his son was up to. He hadn't handed over the reigns yet so was he really allowed to be doing all this?

That thought brought me to a stop right outside Smythe's hideout. I needed a plan. I couldn't just barge in and demand Kurt.

"No point in lurking Blaine. I know you're out there." It was Smythe. "I've been expecting you." I shifted in my stance, clutching the revolver with both hands. "I'm not going to ask you to relinquish the gun. I don't expect you to have the strength enough to fire it," I heard him say next. I gritted my teeth and stayed quiet, looking around for the outside camera. How else would he know I had a gun? "Now, why don't you come on in and we can all discuss this like civilized adults."

"Like you're civilized Sebastian," I spit out, keeping my back pressed to the wall and my hands around the gun. He chuckled lightly.

"If you know what's good for you—no scratch that," he said. "If you know what's good for Kurt, you'll give yourself up."

I bit my lip. He had to go right for the place where it hurt. The one thing he knew would make me surrender easily. How the hell was I going to get out of this one? I couldn't stay here forever. He would get impatient.

"You promised!" hissed a voice from beside Smythe obviously.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. Hummel will be all yours when this is over. I have no interest in him," Sebastian hissed back in a bored voice.

That did it. I didn't know Karofsky but I didn't like the sound of him and I definitely was not interested in him getting his grimy hands on Kurt. I tightened my grip on the revolver and prepared to turn the corner with it.

"I'm going to fuck him Anderson! Tear his little virgin ass open because it belongs to me! It's always belonged to me!" came the second voice again, followed by a gasp.

"Blaine belongs to me. You do not speak to him. Do I make myself clear?" Sebastian said.

"Yes," Karofsky croaked out.

I'd had enough. I whirled around the corner with the revolver held out directly in front of me. I may have never actually shot a firearm but I knew how to handle one. Perks of growing up with a mafia boss for a father.

Sebastian chuckled pleasantly when he saw me, as though this were just one big party to him. And it probably was.

"Nice of you to join us Blaine," he said casually.

"Where's Kurt?" I demanded, holding the gun steady out in front of me. Sebastian tipped the fedora on his head and looked me up and down, clucking his tongue and shaking his head in a disappointed manner.

"Really killer? This is how you show up for our date? I'm crushed," he said. I narrowed my eyes at him, retightening my grip on the revolver.

"This isn't a date Sebastian," I said flatly. "Now, I'm not going to ask you again, where. is. Kurt?"

His face morphed into a steely mask. "He's safe…for now," he said. He was leaning against a column, flipping a coin up in the air over and over again. Karofsky was crouched over, arms holding his massive stomach. I guess Sebastian must have punched him or something. The guy did have a pretty good right hook.

"Let him go!" I yelled. "He has nothing to do with any of this!"

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "That's where you're wrong," he said. "He has much more to do with this than you think!"

I hadn't a clue what he was talking about. But he seemed to be done attempting to negotiate and wasn't going to bother to elaborate either. He slowly raised his own gun and pointed the barrel directly at me and unlike me, he wasn't afraid to pull the trigger.

"I'm going to make this really simple Blaine," he said, beginning to slowly raise and lower the gun over the expanse of my figure. My own hands had started to shake around the revolver I was clutching. "Give yourself up to me, or, I shoot off some part of your body for every time you refuse. How does that sound?" He laughed like it was a game.

It didn't sound very fun at all but my ears picked up a sound in the distance and I recognized it. Something was coming this way and Sebastian hadn't noticed it yet. I put on a façade and continued to appear afraid.

"No," I forced myself to say, though knowing what was coming, I didn't actually have to force myself. I just had to make it sound like it. But I also knew he wasn't joking so I had to figure out a way to stall him.

A stalling tactic came to me a moment later but not by way of ideas in my brain. By the physical form of someone else. Not somebody I had been expecting either.

"Drop the weapon!" I turned my head sharply. Kurt was standing there, a gun held expertly in his hands, face void of any fear. There was a gash from where they had knocked him out but he appeared otherwise unharmed. My mouth dropped open because what the hell was he doing?

Apparently I wasn't the only one in shock by this turn of events. Sebastian was stunned enough to gawk at Kurt too. Clearly, he wasn't expecting him to get out of whatever predicament he had put him in.

"Oh yeah," Karofsky noted from the ground. "I forgot that detail."

"What detail?" Sebastian spit at him through gritted teeth. His eyes were still focused on Kurt, as were my own. I noticed Kurt glance my way out of the corner of his eye but he never took his gaze off Sebastian. Outside, the noise got nearer.

"I am Detective Kurt Hummel of the Columbus Police Department and I order you to drop the weapon!" he said firmly. Sebastian was so stunned, he did just that, only to have the gun go off as it hit the floor. The bullet flew up into the ceiling. "Put your hands above your head and turn around to face the wall." Again, Sebastian did as he was told.

I knew I should have felt grateful. But I didn't, not in the least. In fact, I felt betrayed, angry, hurt. Why had Kurt lied to me about who he was? Did he think that as an officer of the law, I wouldn't want anything to do with him?

"Excuse me?!" I bit out in his direction. Kurt did not lower his weapon but he glanced at me briefly, keeping Sebastian under fire. "You _lied_ to me."

"I didn't lie to you Blaine," he said shortly, sighing. The noise which I had identified as police was down the street now. "Nothing I told you wasn't true."

I snorted. "Right, what about all that stuff about coming out here to seek your dreams?" I spat out.

To his credit, Kurt did not seem bothered by my sudden attitude. It made me wonder if he had ever really loved me at all. He kept his focus on making sure Sebastian didn't make any sudden movements while the police were still in the home stretch.

"That wasn't a lie. I did come here to seek my dreams," he said. "Just not those dreams. Once upon a time, seeking those dreams would have been real," he said. "Being a police officer was far from my first choice."

I rolled my eyes, not having any idea what dreams he was talking about than if not to be a performer. "What changed?" I asked, still angry. I needed to know why Kurt lied to me.

The sirens outside came to a halt and I heard the sound of doors slamming. Kurt finally lowered his weapon knowing that backup had arrived and looked over at me.

"My mom died when I was eight. Do you remember me telling you that?" he asked me and I nodded my head. "I didn't find out until my final year of high school that she didn't just die. She was murdered by the mafia."

As police filed in to take both Sebastian and Karofsky into custody, I started backing away.

"So, you expect me to lead you to my father and just hand him in too?!" I yelled, now glaring at him. How? How could I have fallen for someone who was nothing but a lie?

"No Blaine. I'm not going to arrest your father," he said. I could tell his patience with me was beginning to wan but I didn't care. He had lied to me and that was unacceptable in my books.

"Why should I believe you? You've done nothing but lie to me!" I shouted at him.

"For the last time, I didn't lie to you!" And oh, that frustrated growl was sexy. No. No I couldn't fall for that. Not anymore. I had to keep a level head.

"Than why didn't you tell me any of this?" I demanded, voice rising. Something in him seemed to snap because when he replied he was all but screaming at me. And all the while, we were being ignored by the police carting away Sebastian and Karofsky.

"Because your father told me not to!" he shouted.

Silence. I could see his chest heaving as he breathed heavily. It was my turn to be stunned silly. Well, perhaps for the second time in the past twenty minutes or so. I stared at him wide-eyed for several moments. All of the fight went out of me. My anger seemed to drain out into an invisible river and slither away through the Smythe hideout. I lowered the revolver which I only just realized I was still aiming, but now it was pointed at Kurt. Had I really been ready to shoot him?

"What?" I got out in a small voice that sounded nothing like me.

Kurt drew a deep breath. "Your father told me not to. He's the one who hired me Blaine," he said.

I shook my head in confusion. "I don't understand," I said.

"He was worried about you," Kurt started, slowly coming closer. "One of his guys overheard Smythe talking about what he wanted to do to you. Your father couldn't have that. He wanted you protected and Smythe stopped." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My father who hadn't really approved much of me over the years had done this? "He hired me because I was someone Smythe wouldn't recognize as a cop. He asked me to keep an eye on you and then told me not to tell you the truth because he said, he said you wouldn't believe it."

I stared at him for a good long moment. "He's right. I wouldn't," I told him. Kurt looked at me sadly. I knew what he was thinking. "If it came from him. But it's coming from you," I went on. "And I believe you Kurt."

He looked relieved and then inclined his head to one side. "Why wouldn't you believe him?" he asked quietly.

I sighed. "My father has always been disappointed in me. I didn't think I mattered to him." I shrugged my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant but I knew I was failing.

"He did say his reason for doing this was to prove to you that no matter what, you're still his son and he only wants to see you safe and happy." I chuckled.

"Yeah, he would never say that to me directly," I said. "But why would he hire a homosexual cop?" I asked.

Kurt shrugged, that sly smile I knew so well back on his face. "I think it might have been his attempt at playing matchmaker," he said, causing me to go pink around the ears. Honestly, the idea of my father playing matchmaker was positively laughable.

"Did it work?" I asked.

He stepped closer, finally closing the distance between us. "Well, considering I fell in love with you…" he said and trailed off. I didn't waste another moment. I surged forward and closed the final gap, sealing my lips to his.

Yes. This was definitely love.

* * *

And that's my story. That's how I met the love of my life. My Kurt. It's really strange to say this after all the disappointment but I really have my father to thank for him.

Ironically, we've had no more trouble. When his son was put away, Smythe Sr. moved out of the city and disappeared. Rumor is that he's hiding in France. I could care less. As long as he's not getting revenge on me for his son getting incarcerated I'm good.

As for Karofsky, well, you won't believe this. His gang disbanded when he found a church and became so heavily involved he became a minister. Whenever Kurt and I see him nowadays, it's all pleasantries and well wishes. It's weird but good to know he's not after my Kurt anymore.

As for Kurt himself, he quit his job as a detective and moved in with me permanently. He's pursuing his real dreams and has recently started featuring on the radio. He and Sam have become good friends. As have he and Mercedes. And even Rachel, who apologized immensely for a lot of things.

Oh, and get this! It turns out, Finn Hudson is Kurt's stepbrother. He was the one who tipped off Kurt about where to initially find me. And Kurt was planning to come speak with me after his first show but when I left early, he ended up asking Sam if he knew where to catch me.

Santana is still Santana. She still makes inappropriate comments. That's just her way. But I can tell she's really happy for us. She introduced Kurt to Brittany and they hit it off pretty well too.

And than there's me. Well, I haven't changed much. Except I've actually gone ahead and taken up music myself and you know what? My father isn't afraid to show how proud of me he is anymore. He's over me not wanting to be active in the mafia. That's just not who I am. He gets that now.

Sometimes Kurt and I perform together, but mostly I prefer to let him shine, sticking to playing the piano and writing his music for him. We're a team. We're in love. And we don't care what anyone thinks about it. And you know what?

Neither should you.


End file.
